Week 36 - Still in the mix!

Oh hey, hi there! I thought maybe you were the competition stopping by to gloat or something. I may not have been totally prepared to win this contest, but it does seem that I was ready to compete, as I apparently wrote and sent a lot of letters. Up this week is one that will hopefully serve as a reminder to tuck my friend Clairol in the cart next time I am at the store.

Dear Clairol:

I do not necessarily make bad decisions, or maybe I do. Actually, I am confident that I am not good at making decisions as far as the process itself is concerned. What if I make a choice that mocks and saddens me for the rest of eternity, or at the very least, a few months? There are so many hair color choices available for a woman who finds herself on the losing end of the gray hair pulling battle. So many shades. So many, in fact, that I was left undecided as to what color my hair actually was to begin with.

I brought a friend to the store, convinced that she had superior decision-making skills. When she steered me towards the very dark hues, I tried to disagree since I did not think my hair was black, but she seemed very confident in her decision. I felt insecure arguing with her, or the stranger who we had also dragged into the madness. While those two women focused on the precise shade of too dark for me, I caught sight of the writing on the box that said "washes out in twenty-eight shampoos". I took great relief in the fact that I could certainly wash my hair fourteen times a day if things went poorly. I also saw the words "Natural" and "Instinct" on the label, so naturally I followed my instincts in choosing your product. 

A few years ago I left my hair color needs up to a professional in preparation for my sister's wedding. I am the older sister, and preferred to not just look like her old sister. Things went far more red than I might have imagined, and while the photos show a lovely woman who had been through hair and makeup, I am not sure who she is. I then spent over a year with a gradually enlarging beanie taking over my scalp until the time came when a shorter styled haircut left that color on the floor at the hairdresser's. With Clairol Natural Instincts in my hand, and for a very fair price, I bid good-bye to my graying temples and said hello to a new woman of mystery with very dark hair. I embraced the thought of a gentle, all over, fade before picking another shade.

The handy numbers and color names must be great for people without memory issues. I rip the tops off the boxes for safe keeping, in fact, they are so safe they cannot even find their way into my purse. I arrive in the hair color aisle forced to decide what I think I remember as my color of choice. I do not panic though, after simply quadruple checking that I have grabbed the box that says "washes out in twenty-eight shampoos". (Would you consider making that font larger?)

I am also pleased to say that the messes I have made with my wayward dye gloves and bobbling potion bottles have taken less than twenty-eight scrubbings to clean off the walls, vanity, sink, mirror, linoleum, feet and rugs. (Those last two items were connected.)

Sincerely,

Andrea

So did Clairol send a team of color experts knocking at my door? Well, not exactly. The only response I heard was when my first letter was "returned to sender". I quickly resent it out to a different address, but to no avail.

 No points for this letter, so I remain at 67 points. (Currently a two point race!)

Next week I will provide updates that came after some letters were posted…very suspenseful, I know!